


Enough to Get Me By

by Poppy Pelican (Sierra_Sitruc)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Couch Sex, F/M, Royai - Freeform, Shameless Smut, Smut, Thirsty Roy Mustang, Undercover Missions, couch sex again because I had to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27771487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierra_Sitruc/pseuds/Poppy%20Pelican
Summary: Hawkeye is temporarily reassigned for an undercover mission, and as fate would have it, Mustang stumbles across her at work.ORMustang is THIRSTY, and how Hawkeye received her code name Elizabeth.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 47
Kudos: 150





	Enough to Get Me By

**Author's Note:**

> All right, so I did some research into burlesque dancers for the time period, but I also took artistic liberties to make it work how I pictured it. Don't take this too seriously.

The request came across Riza’s desk first, naturally, as Mustang’s adjutant. It came directly from Central. She looked over the details with curiosity. They were searching for female officers, preferably with defense training and high levels of fitness. Combat experience not required. Ages eighteen to thirty only. Would come with a decent commission. The assignment would last two weeks to a month if chosen. Interesting.

“What do you think, sir?” she asked, passing it off for Mustang to read over.

“You want me to put you up for it?” His eyes didn’t leave the paper.

“It’s just a temporary reassignment,” she said. “Could be beneficial to make connections in Central.” She didn’t want to tell him most of her motivation was financial. Her landlord just raised the rent on top of a very expensive repair bill for her broken stove.

“Hmm, it falls before Hughes’s wedding,” Mustang said. Riza had been invited, probably to keep Mustang out of trouble while he acted as best man. “I suppose that will be fine.”

“It’s unlikely I’ll be chosen,” she reminded him.

“I doubt they’ll find anyone else more qualified.” It was one of his casual compliments, so matter of fact that it was difficult to believe he could possibly be lying. She knew from experience that his silver tongue could lie with practiced ease, a skill he learned from his aunt. They could sweet talk almost anyone.

It took a few weeks to hear back from Central on the assignment, and it was only to invite her to a meet and greet.

The meeting was held in a crowded conference room with ten other women and three men from Central. The best part was that Rebecca was one of the other women, and she and Riza would get a fancy lunch out of this even if they weren’t picked.

“Do you feel like they are rating us like pieces of meat?” Rebecca asked during a brief break.

“Completely,” Riza said. “But for that amount of money, I’m willing to deal with it. Maybe they need someone who looks a certain way?” It could also be why they were looking for younger women, as much as that annoyed her.

“I want to be chosen just to find out what the hell all this secrecy is about.”

“Me too.” Probably some kind of undercover work. Sometimes Central borrowed from other HQs for unfamiliar faces to do a job.

At the end, they were asked to fill out a questionnaire. Any experience working in restaurants or a bar? Experience with dance? Willingness to work late at night? Riza was more convinced than ever that it was a strange undercover investigation, but why only female officers?

The next day, Riza received another invitation, this time for an interview. Inside a dusty, unused office of East City’s headquarters, Captain Zellers finally explained what the assignment was. She felt stupid for not having guessed it sooner.

“I think my integrity as an officer requires that I turn this down,” she said, hoping she still had room to negotiate. It had been voluntary every other step of the way.

“We understand this is an…unsavory assignment,” Captain Zellers said, “but you also understand why we need a female officer, and one with the skills you have.”

Good, it was still something she could refuse. While the assignment would have doubled her monthly pension, she wasn’t in the poor house yet. It wasn’t worth it. If word got around…

“I’m sorry. There are plenty of other female officers who can do this, I’m sure.” She fought the urge to walk out, knowing she hadn’t been dismissed. Sitting stiffly in her chair, she waited.

Captain Zellers looked at his assistant who sat against the wall, taking notes. The other man gave a nod.

Captain Zellers sighed. “What if we double the commission?”

Riza kept her face passive, even as she inwardly warred with herself over her integrity and her financial burdens. The fact that she had room to negotiate gave her pause. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she said, “Okay, but I have some conditions.”

#

Roy hadn’t seen Hawkeye in a week, which was perhaps the longest he’d gone without seeing her since they’d begun working together. It made everything feel off, like he’d forgotten to put on his watch before leaving the house. He kept looking at her desk, mouth opening to ask her a question before he clenched his jaw shut. It felt strange not knowing where she was—not even what city. She told him the temporary transfer was more for intel and she was unlikely to be in danger. She’d been unable to tell him anything else, but it put him at ease, a long ago promise to her father still weighing on his mind whenever her safety was in question.

At least he had plenty of distraction in store that weekend. Hughes’s wedding was coming up, and he and some of the men from their hellish days in Ishval were dragging Hughes to a club where the ladies were scantily dressed, the band was decent, and the food and drink were surprisingly palatable.

The drive to Central was quieter than Roy was accustomed to. Usually Hawkeye was there to talk him through some report or piece of information, never wanting to waste a moment when work could be done. Not that she would have come along to the club with him, which was exactly why he hadn’t mentioned his plans to her. She would have given him the familiar glare that made him feel just like the time his aunt had caught him drinking and making out with a girl in his room when he was a teenager. While he knew Hawkeye was capable of having fun, she had a standard of ethics Roy wasn’t sure he could ever live up to.

As they parked near the club, Hughes finally figured out that they weren’t just going out for a night of drinking and billiards.

“Why would you do this to me, Roy?” Hughes groaned, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

“Because it’s a tradition. And I promise, the food is good.”

Hughes’s lips pressed together. “Are you going to try and force me into accepting a lap dance?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No!”

“Then no, I won’t,” Roy said, laughing. “Lap dances are for more desperate men, anyway. You have a beautiful fiancée, and I have plenty of women eager for me to take them on a date.” If he had time, that is, but Hughes didn’t need to know that.

“Is one of them your bossy adjutant?” Hughes asked.

“Hardly. If she wanted to go on a date, she would’ve just written it into my calendar and convinced me to believe it was my idea.” Though Roy had never heard of Hawkeye having a boyfriend outside of the occasional double dates with her friends she went on. Her time was as consumed by work as Roy’s.

Club Luna was a busy place, which is why Roy had made sure to reserve a place for their party. The bar was crowded with men smoking and drinking, and the band in the corner played a song designed for a steady night of having a good time. The main stage was decorated with colorful curtains and soft lighting, inviting their guests to relax and enjoy the pretty dancers, sometimes engaging the audience, sometimes only dancing with the other girls.

The hostess, a woman dressed in a tight black dress, politely showed them to their table before giving them a rundown of pricing and menu options. Then their waitress came over and Roy immediately ordered a round of beer.

“And the tab is on you, right, Mr. State Alchemist?” Hughes teased.

“I will get the _first_ round,” Roy corrected. Otherwise he’d have ten drunk men to get home. As for himself, he had promised to stay sober to drive them home. The other sucker trapped being sober was one of Hughes’s new buddies at Central who was already calling over one of the dancers with a stack of cash. A pretty brunette sashayed over in an elegant floor length dress, but it was so sheer, her rather sizable breasts were almost completely visible.

Hughes sighed and plunked into a chair. “They at least better have steak here.”

“They do. And I hear it’s good,” Roy assured him.

Dinner was ordered and delivered by two pretty waitresses who seemed to have heard that he was a state alchemist because suddenly he was being doted upon like a king. He shuffled off a chunk of his cash to the other men in their party to spread the attention, laughing with Hughes as the men tried to flirt back with the professionals and made horny fools of themselves.

Not that Roy was above making an idiot of himself for a beautiful girl, just that his upbringing made it easier for him to maneuver through these situations. He’d had plenty of practice. Plus, tonight was about making sure Hughes was thoroughly drunk and having a good time before they took him home.

“Roy, that one has breasts that look _identical_ to Gracia’s,” Hughes said, pointing at the main dancer currently on the stage. At least the drunk part was going smoothly.

Roy grimaced. “I didn’t need to know that.”

“Don’t look at them! It’s like—like you’re looking at my fiancée half naked!”

“She’s technically clothed,” Roy argued, studying the translucent fabric stretched across the dancer.

“Stop looking!” Hughes hissed, leaping to cover Roy’s eyes.

“Fine, fine, I’ll look over there!” he laughed, shoving his friend off. Roy had forgotten Hughes was a lightweight. His eyes went to the edge of the stage where a dancer was winding lazily around a pole, a cascade of wavy blonde curls flowing behind her entrancingly. Compared to the other dancers, she was unobtrusive, not demanding attention. Or maybe it was the fact that the lights were dimmer around her, cloaking her from drunken gazes. Likewise, even her skin was more covered than most. She wore a tight, cropped blazer, unbuttoned to reveal an intricate corset that displayed her cleavage so temptingly Roy couldn’t help but imagine his fingers untying the ribbons.

Something about the color of her hair, the way she moved her strong, lithe body, reminded him of Hawkeye. The resemblance did something awful to him, awakening a yearning for his adjutant he had repressed like a bad memory. He wasn’t allowed to lust after his adjutant. She was untouchable. But this doppelganger was decidedly the opposite. He could drink his fill.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, hypnotized by the way she wrapped her legs around the pole, wishing he could know what it felt like to have them around him, squeezing down on his hips, wanted her arms around his neck, her soft body against his…

Earlier he’d said a lap dance was for desperate men, but suddenly that’s just what Roy was. He wanted to see her face clearer, smell her skin up close. He’d taste her if he could, feel her, but just like the real Hawkeye she reminded him of, he could only look, not touch.

A moment later, she caught him staring. She tilted her head teasingly before twirling playfully around the pole. Maybe she wanted him to move closer or call her over to his table, hoping to persuade him to pay to see more of her.

But he couldn’t. Aside from the fact that he was informally hosting the night, he was so aroused he was embarrassed to stand up. He was Roy Mustang, raised amongst beautiful women, a state alchemist. He was cool and collected, not breathless and needy.

Perhaps because he hadn’t seen Hawkeye in a week, but the dancer’s smile, the shape of her face, even that reminded him of her. And fuck, why did he _want_ the dancer to look like her?

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching, but his food was cold when Hughes waved a hand in front of his face.

“You like that blonde, I see,” he said.

Roy swallowed thickly. “She’s got nice legs.” It came off casual but gruffer than he intended. Hughes guffawed, spilling his drink on the table.

“Why don’t you call her over if you like her so much?”

Because then the other men might want to touch her, too. Because Roy wanted to maintain the illusion. Because she looked like she didn’t want to be bothered, dancing in her quiet corner.

“Not interested in paying a girl to like me,” he said. “I come to these places to watch you get drunk while we look at pretty women.”

Hughes snorted into his drink but didn’t disagree.

After that, Roy only let himself give the dancer fleeting glances, knowing he would only end up horny and frustrated if he looked longer than that. He told himself he was just checking to see if she was still watching him, because it felt like he often found her staring back at him. Maybe, like the other dancers, she hoped she could take advantage of his state alchemist status.

Around midnight, the gathering packed it in for the night. Roy and the other sober volunteer herded the party out the door, leaving behind plenty of cash and a few pouty dancers. Roy hadn’t missed that their table had been the most attended by the dancers that night. But _his_ dancer had never come over.

Acting as a taxi for the party, Roy dropped off Hughes last, who had sobered up enough on the drive that he was no longer singing wedding songs.

“Where are you staying tonight?” Hughes asked. “You could still take my couch, if you wanted.”

“No thanks, I’m going to a hotel near my aunt’s. I promised to have brunch with her tomorrow before I left.” More like she had threatened him with an eternity of guilt until he relented.

Hughes nodded in understanding. Then he grinned devilishly.

“Are you going back to the club to seduce that blonde dancer you liked? She’s probably not wife material, but she was watching you.”

Roy groaned in shame. It’s exactly what he wanted to do. Hughes knew him too well.

“I know better than anyone that that means nothing. It’s her job.”

“Maybe. But none of the other girls were looking our way unless we had money ready to offer.”

“I am not going back like some creep,” he insisted.

But after dropping off Hughes at his building, he found himself driving right back to Club Luna. It wasn’t _her_ , he told himself, but he wanted to see her again all the same.

#

Riza’s feet were killing her. She would never complain about the hideousness of her regulation boots again. The heels the club owner had supplied her with were murder.

“You get used to it,” one of the older dancers had said. “I barely notice the pain anymore.” Another girl had laughed but told Riza to soak them in epsom salt before bed. Another offered some medicinal balm for the end of the night.

The dancers had all cheered and welcomed Riza when she arrived. The club’s owner, who was cooperating with the military in return for protection for him and his employees, had lied and said Riza was ex-military, hired as extra security. It was unlikely that Riza’s skills would be needed, but she had a gun on her back beneath her costume. Rebecca, who Riza had insisted be her partner on the assignment, had a very different role. She mixed in with the crowds as a waitress, mixing drinks and serving food like any other employee.

And while Rebecca only had to wear a little black dress, Riza had been stuffed into a corset she was practically spilling out of, and her legs were wrapped in obscene thigh high stockings she wouldn’t be caught wearing in public under normal circumstances. At least Riza had an easy assignment. The girls had taught her some basic, simple dance moves to do, ones that wouldn’t call attention to her as she idly observed the crowds for the drug lord who had begun causing trouble for the dancers and guests. The best vantage point was from the stage, where Riza would be sure to see if anything shifty happened, and Rebecca’s job was to get up close and gather as much intel as she could. Men, especially ones like their target, had a habit of letting their guard down with enough drink and bare skin around them.

Her section was darker than the rest of the stage, and the staff had even cleverly moved the furniture so guests were less likely to sit in her section. After a week, few men had bothered to do more than throw some cash at her feet while she spun on the pole. Truthfully, until her feet tired, she always enjoyed the smooth combination of the pole and polished stage. It was almost like flying, and she was honestly stunned at what the other dancers could do with it. The core strength the women had was nothing to laugh at. It made Riza grateful for her own exercise regimen so she could glide around the pole without shaming herself.

Then _finally_ , after a week of watching, the target arrived with his lackeys, looking exactly as described. He was handsome and well dressed, but he had a cruelty to him that was obvious the moment he called one of the dancers over like a dog. He threw his cash around like it entitled him to touch her, when it strictly stated at the entrance it was up to each dancer. The dancer faked shyness, though not thirty minutes ago she had been grinding on a young man with practiced enthusiasm.

One of his men came closer to Riza, throwing some money at her and curling a finger for her to come closer. She swept down with a leg in the air and snatched up the cash. She blew him a kiss while another dancer purposefully caught his attention, as all the dancers had been instructed to do. Riza was to observe from afar unless the men hired for security needed backup. What the dancers hadn’t been told was that Riza and their new waitress Rebecca were authorized to arrest at-will, too.

Rebecca brought over drinks, flirting and giggling with the men as she did so. One of them clearly slipped a bill in her cleavage, and Riza wanted to release a warning shot right then. It wasn’t even the most disgusting behavior she’d seen, but it was the quality of the man that made it so contemptible.

More and more guests poured into the club, and Riza kept up her lazy twirl and easy smile while keeping an eye on the target. Rebecca had returned, sitting on their table and shamelessly flirting.

But even with the crowd, Riza could never have missed the familiar profile of her superior officer. She’d spent long enough watching his back, she would know him anywhere. And of course, confident idiot that Mustang was, he didn’t even bother to search the room for any dangers, too occupied with entertaining his friends. A wave of tight, achy tension crashed over Riza from her face to her stomach as she realized that if he _did_ ever look around the room, he would see her on the stage skimpily dressed and dancing for money.

But he didn’t notice.

He threw his cash to the men with him, quite clearly the host of what had to be Hughes’s bachelor party. Hughes, for his part, looked like he just wanted to leave, but eventually Mustang had him laughing and relaxed. He and Mustang stayed respectful and oddly distant from the dancers, clearly finding their amusement in watching their friends interact with them instead.

Riza could almost pinpoint the exact moment word got around to the dancers that Mustang was a state alchemist because several of them convened in a corner before swishing their hips and approaching the table. Unfortunately, the news of a state alchemist’s presence at the club also reached the target’s table, and the drug lord and his men made themselves scarce. Based on Rebecca’s disappointed expression, they would have to try again tomorrow while having to stay on their feet the rest of the night regardless. Since the target was becoming a regular, Riza hoped that meant it wouldn’t be a long wait. She wanted to return to East City within the month.

She hated to admit it, but she missed Mustang and the team. Overlooking the potential humiliation, or him blowing her cover—which she doubted he would do—she was unexpectedly happy to see him. So happy that a tiny, brave part of her, _wanted_ him to look just so she could see him laugh at her predicament. Or see her as someone feminine and beautiful, rather than his stodgy adjutant.

Time dragged slowly in her dark little corner of the club, her eyes casting over Mustang more often than not. Just as she was beginning to think her secret would remain that way, her eyes drifted to him once again to find he was no longer the jovial, carefree host. He was slack jawed, sitting stiffly in his seat staring right at her. A warm knot formed in her belly.

Maintaining her playful expression, she twirled around the pole with more enthusiasm to show she had spotted him, expecting him to laugh or roll his eyes. He merely slumped backward, focused intently on her. It was almost like he didn’t recognize her—which could be his intention. He knew she had an assignment. He wouldn’t want to let on he knew her.

Then he should perhaps try staring less, she thought grumpily.

Her skin prickled with awareness, even though men had been gawking at her all week. It was a visceral reaction now, a desire to be watched that she hadn’t had before. She was a sniper. Being unseen in the shadows was an integral part of her. Yet when it was his dark eyes climbing up and down her body, she welcomed it. When she performed now, it was for him, daring him to look away.

When Hughes pulled his attention back to him, Riza was almost disappointed, but she knew it was for the best. She’d been playing a dangerous game she wasn’t sure she could win.

#

Roy tried not to think of what his lieutenant would say if she knew what he was doing as he strolled back into the club, this time completely alone. For a heartbeat, he feared the dancer had left, but she was still there, his quiet temptress in the shadows of the club.

After grabbing a drink, he gritted his teeth and took a seat in her section, not too close because he was—like a sick fuck—afraid of breaking the delusion that she was the woman he really wanted. He wiped his hands on his pants. They were clammy with anticipation. He dug in his pocket for the extra cash he’d taken from his car. Calculating what he knew from his aunt’s business, it should be more than enough to do…whatever he decided he wanted from her. If she was willing. Mostly he just wanted to keep watching.

The dancer smiled flirtatiously at him, and hell, it was just like Hawkeye’s smile, or he was losing his mind and seeing something that wasn’t there. He stretched out his legs, making room for the persistent erection that had returned the moment he saw her.

A few moments later a dancer came by.

“Elizabeth doesn’t like to come down from the stage,” she purred. “Do you want some attention from me instead?”

“Hmm, I’m happy watching,” he said.

“Do you like blondes? Katya is blonde and very—”

“I just like Elizabeth.” He ignored the twinge of disappointment at knowing his siren’s name. Somehow it was better when he didn’t know.

“All right, handsome,” and she winked and sauntered back to where a few other men were sitting behind him.

He knew convention encouraged him to offer Elizabeth some money for her time, like tipping a waitress. She was patient with him. His mouth went dry as she undulated against the pole, her curves on display, before she rotated, legs spread, one arched high. Fuck, she was strong and limber.

His breathing had grown uneven when a man approached him and introduced himself as the owner of the club. He was a little sleazy, but from what his aunt said, he took care of his girls. Roy did his best to hide his annoyance at the intrusion.

“And your reputation precedes you, of course, Lieutenant-Colonel Mustang,” he said with a grin. “Do you have a special interest in our Elizabeth? I couldn’t help but notice.”

Roy’s sweaty palm tightened on the wad of cash. “She’s very beautiful,” he said lightly, not wanting to betray his obsession.

“She doesn’t do private shows, but I can see if she’d make an exception for you.” For the right price went unsaid. “The other dancers are jealous you’ve paid her so much attention, so if she declines, you’d have your pick of them.”

Roy wasn’t thinking with his right mind anymore, but the thought of another woman was unbearable. “I’m exclusively interested in Elizabeth,” he said, knowing it might cost him more but not caring. He wanted everything now that he had gone down this path. Could she please straighten her hair and tuck it up in a clip, don a military uniform, and scold him for being such a deviant? Then let him bend her over a desk and—

“I’ll see if she’s interested,” the owner said, not sounding as confident as Roy would like. Perhaps he had come over to talk him into one of the other dancers. His Elizabeth did seem standoffish. How strange.

The owner called Elizabeth over to the side of the stage, talking quietly enough that Roy couldn’t hear over the music. She inclined her head in Roy’s direction and she studied him openly. Roy froze like a hunted rabbit, hoping he looked harmless and not achingly desperate just to be near her. He didn’t feel like himself. His muscles were rigid, his heart racing with trepidation as he waited for her answer.

When she smiled and nodded, he sighed in relief before the electric buzz of anticipation shot through him. Shoving the cash in his pocket, he followed as she coyly gestured for him to come with her into a dim hallway off to the side.

Roy unhesitatingly followed.

#

Mustang eventually left and Riza felt direly bored without him. The last hours the club remained open tended to be when many of the dancers plucked up their favorite—richest—customers and took them to one of the private rooms. Supposedly it was just private dancing, but Riza wasn’t an idiot, and the club’s security team remained outside in the hallway, ready to intervene if necessary. Riza wasn’t one to judge.

As the night sluggishly passed, the band was growing as weary as Riza, and the music slowed to something that oozed sex and was easy to dance to.

Her heart immediately began to pound in double time, a jolt of energy running through her, as she spotted Mustang walking back into the club. He looked less comfortable without his cluster of men around him, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. Still, he knew exactly where he was going this time. He grabbed a drink from the bar, oblivious to Rebecca also watching him from the side.

Then he went right to a seat in Riza’s section.

She inhaled nervously, wishing for fresh air rather than the tobacco-laced cloud in the club. What was he doing? Was he just messing with her? But that didn’t fit the expression on his face as he greedily took her in, staring boldly.

Once again, the urge to perform came over her, and she grasped the pole high up, letting herself glide down to the bottom. She told herself if he weren’t her commanding officer, she would do the same for any man acting so infatuated with her in the audience. The other dancers would be suspicious if she didn’t, especially after dark-haired Dorothy tried to entice him away and failed.

After a while, she began to wonder what his plan was. Was he waiting for her shift to be over? Was he in overprotective mode and planning to keep any creeps away from her? She couldn’t fathom what he was thinking—this was too unlike him.

Again, acting so different from his usual self, when the owner approached him, Mustang looked uncertain. Maybe he really didn’t have a plan in mind.

Then the owner came over to her.

“That’s a state alchemist, did you know? The Flame Alchemist,” he said. “He’s got deep pockets.”

Riza played dumb. “I think I’ve heard of him.”

“I know it’s not part of our agreement, so you can turn the idea down if you’d like, but if you’d like to earn a hefty amount of cash, he wants to see you in one of the private rooms. I’d only charge for use of the room. The rest would be yours.”

She glanced around the club. Most of the tables were empty, and more than half the girls had either left for the night or were in private rooms. And Rebecca was still on duty, watching Riza intently.

“Couldn’t one of the other dancers see him?”

“He didn’t want any of the other girls. I asked.”

“Oh?” She wasn’t surprised. None of the other girls were his lieutenant. He must have some scheme in mind.

“He will be easily pleased, I think. Looked like he was gonna implode from watching.”

Implode? Did that mean he was angry? Riza considered the request more carefully.

“Just dancing?” she asked, worrying this could get back to Captain Zellers. It would look bad no matter how she spun it. Taking random men _or_ her commanding officer back for a private dance was unprofessional.

“Just dancing. Unless you decide to be generous,” the owner teased, chuckling at his own joke.

Signaling for Mustang to follow her, still acting as the flirty Elizabeth, she shivered as he came close enough to smell his cologne. And his breath sounded—loud. How much had he been drinking?

The man standing guard over the private rooms pointed them to an empty room. She shut the door behind them and found Mustang wasn’t even looking at her. He rested on the leather couch and buried his face in his hands.

She furrowed her brow. Her plans for calling him out for being overbearing went up in smoke.

“I shouldn’t—this was a bad idea,” he said, still not looking at her. “I’m sorry. I can leave the money and go.”

She was abruptly hot all over in a mix of hurt and…arousal.

“Sir,” she said, moving to sit beside him. “What’s going on?”

If she had any doubts, the proof that he hadn’t recognized her was in the way he floundered, eyes wide and horrified, face burning a crimson she hadn’t seen on him since he was a teenager.

Her initial response was to laugh and play it all off, no harm done. Continue as they always had, superior and subordinate. Then she remembered his eyes on her, picking her out from all the other dancers, because…why? She needed to know.

So she waited, letting him pull himself together.

“If I’d known this is what you’d be doing, I don’t think I would have approved your request,” he said at last. She would have thought he was perfectly unaffected except that his cheeks were still red and there was an indescribable tension emanating from him.

“I didn’t want to do it either, once I found out the details, but they offered me triple what I usually make in a month.”

His expression turned sour. “For money, lieutenant? Really?”

She shrugged. “My rent went up, and I had an unexpected repair. This seemed easy enough.”

“Easy?” Then he looked around the room, glowering. “How many guys have you brought back here?”

“Just you,” she said, like she was reassuring a jealous boyfriend. She smiled. “I thought you knew it was me and were going to tell me off.”

“Your hair is all—curly. You never wear makeup. And you’re dressed like—like— _that_. It’s also suspiciously dark in there, and you were dancing so—you know.” He threw up his hands in defeat.

She nodded. It made sense…up to a point.

“The owner said you didn’t want any of the other girls.”

He said nothing, nodding reluctantly.

Her mind raced ahead, analyzing what he wasn’t saying. The dancers were certainly beautiful, and better at dancing and flirting than Riza. Why had he been so drawn to _her_ , even during Hughes’s party, if he hadn’t known…

“What were you planning to do in here, sir?” she asked, standing up, forgetting how sore her feet were. Maybe it was divine intervention, but they were in one of the few rooms outfitted with a pole. She leaned against it, licking her lips and watching how Mustang reacted. He seemed to hold his breath, his arms falling limply to his sides as he gawked.

The music from the club still thrummed, muffled, through the walls, enough that Riza could still get a beat.

“How much were you going to pay?”

“Obviously, I changed my mind, but…” His hand had the smallest tremor as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge amount of bills, folded tightly together.

He’d wanted something so much, from someone who just _looked_ like her.

“Is that something you do regularly, sir?”

“No. Never. My aunt rammed it into my head that it’s never worth paying a girl to like you. Pay her for information or a skill, instead.”

“A skill? Like dancing?” she asked, sliding her hands up the pole. “I’ve been learning some tricks since I started here.” She climbed the pole with a quick flex of her arms, letting her head fall back in a waterfall of curls as she used her body’s momentum to spin back to the ground.

He swallowed loudly.

“Do you want to see anything else?” she asked, hiding her uncertainty as it warred with her desires. She couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted to tease him…or something more.

“Please.”

She wished it weren’t the end of the night. Her muscles were already sore, and she was fighting off blisters on her palms, but she could always push herself farther than she imagined when it came to Roy Mustang.

She basked in his attention and focus, empowered by the gasps and quiet groans he tried to hold back. Eventually, she wound herself back on her feet, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do. She reached out for the cash he’d left carelessly beside him on the couch.

“Hmm, for this much, I think you wanted more than a private dance, right?” She tucked it into the pocket of her blazer.

His black eyes were wide and curious, and he held so still, like he was afraid she would bolt if he made a wrong move.

Slowly, with such purpose he could not mistake what she meant to do, she planted her knees on either side of his legs, hovering over him as she had seen the dancers do with men.

His head rested against the back of the couch, far enough away that his face wasn’t buried in her chest, but close enough his shallow breaths ghosted across her skin. She wanted to touch him, but even here it seemed wrong to cross that barrier. No fraternizing. Because it didn’t count as long as they never touched. Right?

#

Roy had never been so ridiculously hard for so long in his life. His brain was shorting out from all the blood flow redirecting to his cock. His cock that Hawkeye was hovering scant centimeters above as she straddled him.

Every one of his muscles was taut in agony, his thighs aching to rear up, hands clenching the leather of the couch in a death grip so he didn’t reach out and smash her against him. He got the sense she didn’t want to go that far, though the wall between them was paper thin now—just like his restraint.

Had her eyes always been such a warm amber? Had they ever looked at him with lust like this before? He would kick himself if he’d missed such a thing.

The warmth radiating from her, the soft gasps as she rolled her hips just like she would if they were naked. Imagining how little it would take to be inside her made him bite his lip in a tortured moan. His hands twitched closer, grazing her legs.

“No touching, sir,” she reminded him. He had to close his eyes to look away from the gorgeous sight of her breasts. He could just lean forward a bit, tug down the fabric and have her bare for him to lick and suck and—

No touching.

“Such a stickler for the rules. Fuck.” He opened his eyes, not wanting to miss anything, afraid of time running out. How much longer did they have?

“What would you do if I _did_ let you touch?” It was a whisper drenched with longing.

As if he could construct sentences worthy of what he wanted to do when she was working those hips so good above him.

“I’d touch you everywhere. Every inch. With my hands, my mouth,” he panted. “Make you feel so good.”

“Would I get to touch you, too?” she asked, and he nearly exploded.

“Yes, god yes.”

He needed her closer. This wasn’t _enough_. He was dying for release, consciously forcing himself to hold still and not thrust off the couch. She undulated, just pure sex, and when he stole a glance down between them, the sight of her strong thighs quivering around him almost pushed him over the edge. _Almost_.

“Please, just let me—” he whined, feeling pathetic but too far gone to care.

“We shouldn’t.”

“I know, I know,” he ground out. “But I can’t seem to remember why not.”

“Sir,” a gentle reminder of the taboo they were already committing.

He wanted to cry in frustration. It was so unfair that they could have nothing, not even once, when she looked like that and his head was all mixed up…

Then it came to him.

“I’m not your commanding officer. Temporarily.” His mouth was dry as the words hung in the air, thickening the tension between them with potential. Even as she considered it, she couldn’t stop rocking, seeking the same relief he was.

“I suppose…a little touching won’t hurt.” She rolled her hips into him again, but this time her sweet, hot center melded against his straining erection. Finally, glorious, sinful friction. A blissful moan spilled from her lips, and he wanted to hear it again and again.

Her movements were forceful, but still not enough through the front of his pants, he needed just a bit more.

“Fuck, please,” he begged. His hands found purchase on her silk covered hips and guided her into a rhythm that he would have to tolerate. He couldn’t take their clothes off here. He wouldn’t be able to accept the paltry touches she bestowed him with anymore. He’d need to be inside her, and he didn’t deserve to debauch her more than he already was. Though she looked so beautiful as she panted over him, writhing on his lap.

“Are you close?” she asked.

He could only make a noise to affirm that he was—right on the edge, mindless and seeking, worried he wouldn’t be able to come this way. He hadn’t since he was an excitable teenager.

He needed—

And she grasped his hair, tugging him to her mouth in a fit of wild desperation. It was rough, and mostly a pressing of open mouths, merging together, too violent in their desires to coordinate anything more.

When she came, he was granted the taste of her as she trembled on him, her hips faltering through her orgasm. Like the scoundrel he was, he took advantage of her daze to hold her closer, cupping her ass and dragging her across his cock at a brutal pace.

Still, he couldn’t finish.

He let out a cry of agony and frustration. This was too much like every time he wanted to kiss her and couldn’t. Wanted to hold her and couldn’t.

“I can’t—not like this.” He was sweaty, a fucking mess, and she felt so, so good. But he couldn’t.

And then her perfect, wonderful hands were at the front of his pants, tugging him free.

“You don’t have to.”

“Shh, I want to as much as you do,” she said, and then she was shoving the lining of her silk corset aside.

He cursed and babbled as she took his cock in her hand and guided him to her center. His head was immediately coated in gorgeous wetness, and he could feel her entrance so tight yet ready for him. He knew all the women in the military received shots to prevent pregnancy, and he was never more thankful for it than right now.

She whimpered as she eased down on him, stretching to wrap around him.

“Oh god,” she moaned. “This is better than I imagined.”

“So good, so good,” he panted. “I’m not gonna last.” She slowly took all of him inside, her walls rippling around him, slickness dripping down on him. He held his breath, struggling to hold back what had been so difficult to achieve just a moment ago.

Her mouth found his again, and she began to ride him with the same strong legs he’d seen wrapped around the pole. He fought to hold on, wanted more of the perfection of being snug inside her, but then he felt that exquisite tightness just before he found release. His come poured out of him, hot and thick, buried as deeply into her as he could get. Every nerve in his body seemed to be on fire with pleasure as he fell back on the couch, Hawkeye sprawled limply across him. The weight of her was so gratifying, he took a moment to bury his face in her hair as they recovered.

He was struggling with what to say in the quiet when a soft knock came.

“Elizabeth?” a voice called.

On top of him, Hawkeye went still. “It’s Rebecca.” She leapt off him, and already he felt bereft. “What should I say?”

His brain still not functioning at full capacity. It took him a moment longer to realize she wanted his guidance. Like he usually gave as her superior officer. Rebecca Catalina was out there. Of course she was. Hawkeye wouldn’t be here alone.

“She knows we’re both in here,” he reminded, tucking himself back into his pants. It was a sticky mess of both of them, and he couldn’t find it in him to care. “How much do you trust her?”

Roy could not say he knew Catalina well, but he trusted Hawkeye. She gave a firm nod and calmly went to the door.

“Cat, I’m with a customer,” Hawkeye said breezily, giggling in character as Elizabeth. She kept the door cracked so Roy wouldn’t be seen. “Is it important?”

“I was just heading out for the night, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t need a ride home,” Rebecca’s reply was just as airy as Hawkeye’s.

“Not tonight. Thank you.”

Hawkeye shut the door and rested her head against it for a few moments, collecting herself.

“I’m sure she one-hundred percent knows we were doing something suspicious in here,” she said with a sigh. “She’d never rat us out, but _I’m_ going to hear about it for the rest of my life.”

“Ah, sorry,” he said, unsure what to do now that the rush of pleasure had faded. Shame settled in his chest and threatened to choke him. How could he have used her so selfishly? And she’d taken his _money_ for it?

“Hey, I can see you’re spiraling, sir.” She sat gently beside him. Her usually comforting presence made him feel sick with himself instead. He couldn’t look at her.

“I’m not spiraling.”

“Are you…angry with me?”

He laughed darkly. “I should be asking you that.”

“I’m not angry,” she said softly. “I liked it.” She cleared her throat. “Did _you_ like it?”

“You could’ve just stood there yelling at me and I would’ve liked it with you dressed like that.” He let himself look at her briefly and had to bite his lip to hold back from pulling her against him. “Why do you have to look so good? It’s hard enough when you’re in uniform.”

“I know the feeling,” she said.

Then a thought occurred to him. “So all night…all that teasing was actually for _me_?” He watched her reaction closely. The faintest blush before she landed on a stern expression.

“You were the one staring.”

“You wanted me to.” And he knew suddenly it was true. She’d liked her commanding officer watching her. Replaying the night with what he knew now, his self-loathing eased. A little.

She shrugged, unrepentant. “Sometimes I feel like you don’t see me as a woman at all, but the way you looked at me…”

“I always see you as a woman. I just…don’t act on it.” He went for it. The damage was done. “But I’ve wanted to—for a long time.”

Her smile was watery. “Me too.” She leaned forward and placed the chastest of kisses on his lips. “Our friendship is enough most of the time,” she said, resting her forehead on his. “I care too much about our goals for this country, about _your_ dreams—”

“I know.” He hugged her tightly, wishing he could become fuhrer on his own with her as his wife, not his adjutant. But he needed her skills, and he’d promised her. He ended the hug, feeling as empty as he always thought he’d feel if he ever paid a woman for her affections.

On the way to his hotel, sticky, tired, and more than a little depressed, he debated turning his car around and asking Hawkeye to spend the night with him. He let himself imagine it instead, now with the added torture of knowing what sweet noises she made when he sunk inside her.

With only plans for passing out in bed, Roy reached into his pocket for his hotel key and next to his key he grasped the bundle of cash he’d given Hawkeye. She’d reverse-pickpocketed him.

He returned the cash to his pocket and unlocked the door to his room, a little more in love with her than he had been a moment ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments! They make my day, even if they just say asdfgh!!
> 
> Also, I'm terrible at keeping up with tumblr, but I am there as poppy-pelican, usually just reblogging royai. :)


End file.
